About the song
“The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is a haunting ballad that has become an iconic tribute to the 29 crewmen who lost their lives when the SS Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior on November 10, 1975. Written, composed, and performed by the renowned Canadian singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot, this song is widely regarded as one of his finest works. Released in 1976 on his album Summertime Dream, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” tells the poignant story of the final voyage of the Edmund Fitzgerald, a bulk carrier that succumbed to a massive late-season storm and sank in the treacherous waters of Lake Superior.
Lightfoot’s passion for recreational sailing on the Great Lakes and his meticulous attention to detail are evident throughout the song, which draws inspiration from news reports and personal accounts of the tragedy. The song’s lyrics are a masterclass in storytelling, weaving together the threads of a tragic event to create a narrative that is both powerful and poignant. Despite being recorded before the ship’s wreckage could be examined, Lightfoot’s song contains some artistic conjectures, omissions, and paraphrases, which only add to its emotional impact.
Over the years, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” has become a beloved classic, with its haunting melody and poignant lyrics resonating with listeners around the world. The song’s chart success was impressive, reaching number 1 in Canada and number 2 in the United States, and it remains one of Lightfoot’s most enduring and iconic songs. As a tribute to the crewmen who lost their lives, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is a powerful reminder of the importance of honoring the past and the sacrifices made by those who have gone before us.
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Lyrics
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy
With a load of iron ore twenty-six thousand tons more
Than the Edmund Fitzgerald weighed empty
That good ship and true was a bone to be chewed
When the gales of November came early
The ship was the pride of the American side
Coming back from some mill in Wisconsin
As the big freighters go, it was bigger than most
With a crew and good captain well seasoned
Concluding some terms with a couple of steel firms
When they left fully loaded for Cleveland
And later that night when the ship’s bell rang
Could it be the north wind they’d been feelin’?
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
And a wave broke over the railing
And every man knew, as the captain did too
T’was the witch of November come stealin’
The dawn came late and the breakfast had to wait
When the gales of November came slashin’
When afternoon came it was freezin’ rain
In the face of a hurricane west wind
When suppertime came, the old cook came on deck sayin’
“Fellas, it’s too rough to feed ya”
At 7 PM, a main hatchway caved in, he said
“Fellas, it’s been good to know ya”
The captain wired in he had water comin’ in
And the good ship and crew was in peril
And later that night when his lights went outta sight
Came the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald
Does any one know where the love of God goes
When the waves turn the minutes to hours?
The searchers all say they’d have made Whitefish Bay
If they’d put fifteen more miles behind her
They might have split up or they might have capsized
They may have broke deep and took water
And all that remains is the faces and the names
Of the wives and the sons and the daughters
Lake Huron rolls, Superior sings
In the rooms of her ice-water mansion
Old Michigan steams like a young man’s dreams
The islands and bays are for sportsmen
And farther below Lake Ontario
Takes in what Lake Erie can send her
And the iron boats go as the mariners all know
With the gales of November remembered
In a musty old hall in Detroit they prayed
In the maritime sailors’ cathedral
The church bell chimed ’til it rang twenty-nine times
For each man on the Edmund Fitzgerald
The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down
Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
Superior, they said, never gives up her dead
When the gales of November come early